


The Stars, the Oliphaunt and the Warrior (Triptych)

by Meysun



Series: Uncle and Nephews [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Behind the grumpiness, Childhood, Childhood Trauma, Cute Fíli, Durin Family Angst, Dwalin Is A Softie, F/M, Fíli Angst, Fíli Feels, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Mother-Son Relationship, Pregnant Dís, Thorin Feels, Thorin is a Softie, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Young Fíli
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:10:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8809138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meysun/pseuds/Meysun
Summary: Fíli is five when his father drowns in one of the River Lune's terrible floods, and has narrowly escaped death himself. Distraught, lost, furious and afraid, Fíli struggles with loss, guilt and grief – and slowly begins to get closer to his stern, closed-off and unfamiliar uncle.A small triptych for Christmas time.





	1. Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Hello laddies, here I am again! I am sorry that this is not the next chapter of the King of Carven Stone - somehow I am struggling with that one (and to be honest it is sometimes hard to not find myself very foolish for still writing about seemingly-not-so-trendy-anymore-Thorin... sometimes it just feels like I'm posting in the void, but then Norma and Guest come and everything feels right again). The chapter is however on the way, I promise. And I also promise I'll answer all the lovely comments you left, Norma - as for Guest, as usual, your review about Thrain was spot on and wonderful.
> 
> This fic here has taken shape these past days, and I didn't really expect it. But as some of you know, my characters are not nice ones that agree to fit into the plots I try to shape for them, but strong-willed plagues that scream to be heard. This time, after Thrain and Thror, it has been little Fili. And so here you have it, a little Christmas-fic of three chapters to be published roughly every seven days before Christmas.
> 
> In this fic, Fili's father just died. The River Lune has flooded again - because the Ered Luin are still in the middle of Thorin's vast reinforcement program, and because our lovely, wonderful Thorin is running himself ragged to try to reinforce the mines, build a dam able to master the floods, paying the debts he still owes to the Dwarven tribes who have agreed to go to war, and to make reluctant Broadbeams and Firebeards agree to that visionary, but ambitious and hard-working plan. Of course little Fili has no clue of all this, and is actually not close at all to Thorin, who is away and busy most of the time. Thorin has actually just returned from a journey where he has tried to come to an agreement with Men concerning the cutting of enough trees to try and begin their work - and finds his sister's small family distraught and very much in need of him.
> 
> This spoilers being written (allowing me to write Fili freely and... to never finish the King of Carven Stone - just a joke :p), may the story begin!  
> And of course, may you enjoy Christmas time and please, please, please take care of yourselves. Much love, Meysun.

**_T.A. 2863, autumn._ **

  


It is cold and wisps of straw are biting his legs and back. Fíli's stomach hurts – he is hungry, but it is not just that. There is a big, painful knot, deep inside, a stone with sharp edges, and it won't go away, Fíli knows it.

It won't get better.

It is all wrong, and Fíli will never come down, never ever, not to eat, not to go to sleep, and least of all to wash. He does not care for the cold, the hunger or the filth.

He wants ' _adad_. He wants ' _adad_ , wants him to come and scoop him up in his big arms, laughing quietly in his ear.

« Hungry, butternut ? », ' _adad_ would whisper.

Fíli kicks the straw and watches the wisps fly.

The wooden ladder leading to the barn's attic creaks, and Fíli withdraws further in the straw, his heart beating so fast he can feel it hammer in his chest. He has yelled at ' _amad_ , shrieking and writhing in her arms, until she let go and gave up – he has roared, picking up handfuls of earth and throwing them, at her and at master Balin, to prevent them from chasing him up here.

He has been there all afternoon, and the sun is setting. He has waited for them to come, and hit him, to scold him and force him down. But no one has come, and Fíli thinks this is worse than anything. They don't care. Only ' _adad_ cares, and ' _adad_ is gone.

Fíli's throat tightens when he recognises the shape that just climbed up. He thought it would be Balin. Maybe even Dwalin – they get on well, usually. He's strong, and they are friends, sort of – because Dwalin does not treat him like a baby, but answers his questions and fights against him.

But the one who has climbed up to fetch him is Thorin, and Fíli's stomach clenches.

' _Amad_ sent Thorin, and this means she does not have anything to say to him. Because Thorin does not talk, not really, Thorin is quiet and somewhat frightening, and his voice when heard is much deeper than ' _adad_ 's – he's taller, too, just like ' _amad_ , and his chest and arms are hard as a rock. Fíli remembers it from when he was small, and used to sit on his lap.

That was before he decided he did not like him. Because he was never there, always away, and had even missed his birthday, returning days and days afterwards. Thorin had brought a set of beautifully coloured marbles with him, but Fíli had not touched them, furious and hurt. And he had told Thorin he liked uncle Glóin better, that from now on he would just have _one_ uncle in the world, and that he could keep his marbles and play all alone.

That was the one and only time ' _adad_ had hit him, and scolded him so hard Fíli had begun to cry. He had been forced to apologize, and Thorin had nodded – had said it was all right. But it was not, Fíli had seen it in Thorin's eyes, in the way they never quite met his afterwards, and much later he had noticed ' _amad_ wrapping her arm around his shoulders and touching foreheads. It had made him feel bad, but he did not know what to say to him, and still does not.

Thorin is not cheerful, he has no stories and jokes to tell – he's stern and quiet and Fíli knows he has come to scold him. He's the one deciding now, and Fíli hates him for it.

When Thorin sits down on the ground, Fíli frowns. He's not wearing chainmail and weapons, he's just in tunic and jerkin, and that is unusual. It makes him look a bit less intimidating, but as Fíli scans Thorin's face he can see  that the rings under his eyes  have not vanished, but are darker and deeper than ever.

He watches as his uncle picks up some  wisps, and begins to intertwine and bend them. Thorin does not say a word. He just fiddles with the straw, slowly, his head slightly bowed so that his  dark hair shields his face, and Fíli frowns.

When Thorin puts down his work, Fíli squints,  twists and bends to try and  see what it is,  and ends up sending some  wisps to the ground. He stills, in awe – but his uncle just picks up more straw.

It goes on for some time. Thorin  is folding wisps , putting something down,  picking up straw and beginning anew, but as much as Fíli struggles he cannot make out what it is  he's making , and it puzzles him. Unnerves him enough to leave the straw at last, as the setting sun is throwing red light on the ground, and on his uncle's tunic.

“What are you making?”, Fíli asks, his voice cracked and raw, and then his stomach rumbles so loudly he presses a hand against it.

Thorin does not comment, nor does he lift his head, but as his fingers work on, his deep voice utters one word, softly.

“Stars.

\- Why?”, Fíli asks, somewhat angrily –  because  _stars_ do not fit his mighty warrior-uncle, and because what Fíli  wants now is to pick up a fight, only he cannot.

You do not fight with someone who's turning  wisps of  straw into stars. Seven-pointed stars, what's more -  Fíli has never seen their likeness.

“Because they are the only ones I remember. He taught me more, but I… forgot.”

His uncle's voice is raw. It is full of a pain Fíli has never witnessed – and stirs something in him. Thorin still does not look up, he just goes on with his work, and it makes  Fíli bold enough to ask.

“Who?”

Thorin's hands still for a second, and then resume their moves.

“Your uncle.

\- Glóin?”,  Fíli says, somewhat incredulously. “Glóin knows how to make them?

\- Not Glóin”, Thorin answers, very quietly, and this time he looks up.

His eyes are like  _'amad_ 's. The same blue.  But Thorin's are sadder. Darker. They used to be. Now,  _'amad_ 's look exactly like that, and Fíli cannot bear it. 

“I don't have other uncles”, Fíli says, defiantly. “Just Glóin and you.”

Thorin's eyes cloud and leave Fíli's face. He picks up another  wisp , and begins his next star – there are at least nine before him, and Fíli could count them, only he's mulling Thorin's words, trying to understand. 

When he does, his throat feels even tighter. Because it is the first time he has ever heard Thorin allude to him. ' _Amad_ and ' _adad_ used to, sometimes. They explained to Fíli that he had died in a big battle, long ago, when he was still very young, and they honour his memory together every _Zulu 'Azughâl_. But they also told Fíli not to  ask Thorin any questions about him, because Thorin had been in that battle too, and had been the one who had found him.

It  is a sad story. But Fíli had also thought, privately, that there  was not much he want ed to  tell Thorin  _anyway_ .  It had been easy not to say his name aloud. 

But now Fíli does.

“And… uncle Frerin”, he whispers, haltingly, scanning Thorin's face.

His uncle closes his eyes for some seconds.

“Aye”, he lets out, and there is a world of pain in the sound. “He would have made more than stars. Animals. Shapes. A small world of straw and beauty.”

Fíli swallows. It hurts. His eyes spill and he does not see the stars anymore, they blur and he sniffs and wipes his cheeks, and when his uncle extends his arm, he lets out a sob that feels like he's coughing up fire. And another, and then another. He weeps, head buried in Thorin's neck and in his hair, he cries until he has no air left, his fingers knotted around Thorin's tunic, and all this time he presses his body close to his uncle's chest, because he knows, somehow, that Thorin has felt just like that, is probably feeling just like that – and that, for the first time in Fíli's life, _he_ is the one who understands.

Thorin's body is hard as a rock. But it's also warm. And alive. He can feel Thorin breathe, senses his hands against his back, anchoring him. Linking him to him. Telling him he's not alone.

Fíli sobs, and hiccups, and every one and then he lets out a long, pain-filled wail – and Thorin never tells him to stop, Thorin simply holds him, and moves with him, rocking him slowly with each new assault of pain, fingers trailing through his hair. 

Fíli is  so spent when it finally stops that he cannot keep himself upright. He's slumped against his uncle, letting out shuddering, uneven breaths, and this time Thorin shushes him, brushing his back with gentle, soothing moves.

His arms are circling Thorin's neck, and he's sitting on his lap. That is why he's aware that Thorin is shaking, despite his calm strokes and his even breaths .  So  Fíli presses himself even closer, determined to warm him up, even though he's not sure Thorin's actually cold.

His stomach suddenly gives another low rumble, and Thorin's hand trails up, stroking  Fíli's hair. 

“Someone here is very hungry”, his uncle says – his voice ringing through Fíli's chest.

“I'm not”, Fíli croaks, even though he is.

Because it's a way to say _no_ , that he does not want anything of _this_ , that it is an outrage and that it should not be.

“I guess I am, then...”, Thorin says, and it sounds like a question, causing Fíli to pull back slightly so as to take a look at his face.

He really looks a lot like ' _amad_. Their hair is just the same, their eyes and nose as well. Thorin's beard is different, though. It's thicker, but it's also shorter – ' _amad_ has braids and beads in hers, while Thorin's is cut close to the skin. So close that Fíli notices a thin, blood-crusted cut, just below his jaw, half hidden by Thorin's long braids.

He puts his finger on it, shyly. It is weird, but he'd never have thought Thorin could bleed. Or shiver, or breathe like someone trying not to weep. He'd never have thought Thorin could smell of home, of something known and familiar – and that he could be so warm. It's very silly, but he has probably thought, all this time, that Thorin was somehow made of stone.

That's what a lot of people say.

But now it strikes Fíli that, actually, Thorin must have felt very, very lonely. Because, save for ' _amad,_ and ' _adad_ who's gone now, and Dwalin and Balin, there's barely anyone Thorin sits with and talks to. No one to tell him he has cut his cheek.

“Does it hurt?”, he asks, and he feels Thorin swallow, turning his face from Fíli as he shakes his head.

But Fíli still sees the tear rolling down his cheek, soon followed by another. It is all so quiet, the way his uncle cries. He looks away, he does not make a noise, does not say a word – and that's when Fíli realises he must have hurt his uncle very, very much.

“I'm sorry”, he lets out, his voice tiny, and Thorin turns to stare at him, despite his shining eyes.

“What for, _bunn_ _el_?”, he asks, and he truly sounds aghast.

“B-because I said you were not a good uncle, before you left. B-because I said I liked uncle Glóin more. It's n-not true. And b-because I threw earth on ' _amad_ and – and – and master Balin and w-was shouting and m-made ' _amad_ sad and angry… and you…

\- I am not angry at you”, Thorin says, and his gaze is so earnest Fíli knows he tells the truth.

“But you are sad”, he sniffs, and Thorin's warm hands find his back again.

“Yes”, Thorin whispers, his voice hoarse. “I am. But it is not because of you. It is _never_ because of you, _bunnel_.”

The fond word makes Fíli blink. No one calls him like that, no one but Thorin, and it stirs something in his chest, like a long-forgotten memory. He circles Thorin's neck again, nestles against his chest, and then he speaks, shakily.

“I… did not want to get into the water. I don't want… to get into the water.”

That's why he struggled, and screamed, and fought. The mere thought to have water circling his body again makes Fíli want to throw up, and it doesn't matter he's filthy and smelly, that it has been _four days_ , he does not want to even enter the small bucket in which he usually bathes.

Water swallowed ' _adad_ , just like that, and Fíli hates it.

Thorin's arms tighten their embrace around him, and it feels good, and warm, and safe. And as he speaks, softly, Fíli feels the knot in his stomach begin to unravel.

“You do not have to, _bunnel_. Everybody understands.

\- No. No one does. No one. They just think I'm a coward.”

He has spoken fiercely, desperately, and this time Thorin bends and kisses his filthy, straw-knotted hair, holding him tightly.

“You are anything but a coward, _bunnel_. Some warriors have very silly-looking fears, because they have seen and lived through terrible things, and yet they are among the bravest Dwarves I know. It's… like a scar. One you cannot see.

\- Do they heal?”, Fíli asks, face buried deep into Thorin's shoulder, but this time his uncle does not answer, he just sits with Fíli on his lap, in the attic that has now grown very dark.

“What will ' _amad_ say? About the bath? She'll want me to wash.

\- Injured warriors do not take baths. Their bodies are cleaned with a wet sponge, until they heal.”

Thorin's voice is earnest, very determined, and Fíli loves him for it, because he knows his uncle is not making fun of him, and that he means what he says.

“And the hair?”, he asks, and this time Thorin almost smiles.

“Injured warriors get their hair washed sitting on a chair and holding very still.”

Somehow it seems to Fíli his uncle must have done that, for someone, long ago. Maybe Dwalin, when he still had some hair, even though the idea of it seems strange. Or perhaps…

“Will _you_ wash my hair?”, Fíli asks before he really thinks about it, but once the words are out he's pleased, because his uncle's face softens and suddenly looks even more like _'amad_ 's.

“Yes, _bunnel_. I will. Now hold tight, will you? Let us climb down.

\- Don't forget the stars”, Fíli mumbles – he's tired, exhausted actually, and he shivers as Thorin moves, hoisting him up on his hip, holding him there with one arm only.

He picks up the straw-stars with his left hand and hands them to Fíli. And Fíli presses them against his chest as they climb down – it is very dark outside, so dark he hides his face against Thorin's neck. It is cold as well, but his uncle spreads his palm against Fíli's back and rubs it gently, until Fíli's shivers still.

He has to blink when Thorin leads them both inside. ' _Amad_ has made a fire, and lit the lamps – it is warm and lighted inside, it feels like home and yet Fíli is scared to leave Thorin's chest, scared to look ' _amad_ in the face and see the hurt carved there because of him.

Thorin brings them both close to the fire, and Fíli shivers again. His uncle's hand strokes his back, and then he says, very softly:

“Tell ' _amad_ what you have found, in the straw. Show her what you have brought back. There are enough for all the rooms, are they not, Fíli?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Fíli's face leaves Thorin's neck. He does not turn, he just stares at his uncle – because this is such a gentle thing to do, to pretend Fíli has found the stars when it has been Thorin doing them all along, just to be able to give his ' _amad_ something to make up for his behaviour and his words…

It does not feel fair for Thorin. But his uncle's eyes are as soft as his voice, now, and then Thorin does something he has not done in a very, very long time – he bends, and nudges Fíli's forehead with his. _It's all right,_ he seems to say, and Fíli does as he is told, this time.

“Stars”, he croaks, and it feels like he's going to cry, his lip is trembling as he turns to face his ' _amad_ at last, barely daring to look up. “The straw's full of stars, and they are all… all for you.”

' _Amad_ is the most beautiful Dwarrowdam these Mountains have ever witnessed. That's what ' _adad_ used to say. She is tall, her hair is Raven-black and so long it reaches her waist, her eyes are blue as the purest of sapphires, and she's as strong as Thorin, as strong as Dwalin even, because she knows how to fight with both hands, just like them.

But what makes ' _amad_ so beautiful is the way her face softens, whenever she looks at those she loves, whenever she finds something worthy and touching in this world. ' _Amad_ does not seem to be made of stone at all, ' _amad_ is all fire and light and love – and even with her face all pale and her eyes all red, and the way the light she carries seems dulled, something still manages to shine in her features, as she takes them in, Thorin, Fíli and the stars, and reaches out for them.

She extends her arms, and for a second Fíli thinks Thorin is simply going to make his weight shift from his hip to _'amad_ 's, and withdraw, as always. But ' _amad_ does not let him, she circles both Fíli's waist and Thorin's shoulders, and draws them both against her – and for a few seconds Fíli is shielded between uncle and ' _amad_ , and it feels almost right.

“ _Maikhmini_ ”, ' _amad_ whispers, and Fíli knows she's not fooled, and has guessed where the stars come from, but chooses to play along nonetheless.

Sometimes it is just easier this way.

She takes him in her arms then, cradles him against her, and Fíli entwines his legs around her waist and circles her neck with his arms – he is crying, a little bit, and so is ' _amad_ , but then his stomach gives a loud rumble, and ' _amad_ has a small, somewhat shaky laugh.

She kisses his cheek and tells him she'll warm up dinner, and Fíli nods and slides down – he has seen Thorin fetch a small basin, a sponge and some soap, as well as towels. His uncle is rolling up his sleeves, quietly, and as usual Fíli's heart skips a beat when his eyes fall on the criss-crossed pattern of scars barring his left forearm – they look so mighty and terrible, like a strange tattoo he cannot help but find beautiful, because it is familiar.

His uncle looks at him, and Fíli wonders why he has always thought Thorin frightening, stern and cold. There are a thousand words in his uncle's eyes – it's just that he does not know how to speak them. He's better with looks, and with touches, just like Fíli is better with fists and roars right now.

And so Fíli joins him, and sits down on the rug to remove his boots and socks, and when it's done Thorin kneels down next to him and unbuckles his belt, before pulling both tunic and shirt from Fíli, in a single move, just like ' _adad_.

“You have to separate them”, he tells his uncle patiently, but Thorin just huffs.

“They are no more than filthy rags”, he growls – but there is a sparkle in his eyes as he helps Fíli to step out of his trousers, and it makes Fíli smile.

“They are no rags...”, he says, and his uncle gives another huff.

“I'm throwing them straight into the fire, that's what I'm going to do...”

And then Thorin makes a quick move towards the fireplace and Fíli squeaks, and then Thorin's shoulders are shaking, because he's laughing, very quietly – because he has kept Fíli's clothes balled in his hand, and was pretending all along.

Fíli throws himself against his uncle's chest, and Thorin's hands run against his bare back as he restrains him in their small wrestle – they are warm, he's so warm, and Fíli loves to see him smile.

“Come now, little warrior”, his uncle whispers. “The water will grow cold.”

Thorin's hands are big, but they are deft and able. It takes him about a minute to have Fíli stripped down and shivering before him, and about five minutes to clean his whole body with a sponge he is dipping into warm water. He scrubs his skin carefully, but it doesn't hurt – it is just warm and soothing, and Fíli relishes the way the sponge rinses the filth away, the way Thorin manages to make him feel clean and almost whole, without having to drench him.

He loves the way his uncle handles him, and so Fíli allows himself to be a bit of a baby, and to let Thorin dress him in his nightclothes, before placing him on a chair. By that time Fíli's eyelids droop, and he doesn't really know if he feels more tired or hungry.

His uncle tells him to bend his head back, just a little, and Fíli obeys. Thorin's hand comes resting against his forehead, and then, very gently, his uncle begins to drench his hair until it is all wet. The water never meets Fíli's face, and he relaxes completely when Thorin begins scrubbing his head. He doesn't really remember what happens afterwards – his hair is all clean and damp and Fíli's sitting on _'amad_ 's lap and ladling his soup, and through the haze of sleep that is invading his small body, Fíli cannot even begin to decide what feels best.

The food in his stomach, warming him up, or the way his body isn't cold and itchy anymore, but soft and just yearning for sleep, or the fact that he has _'amad_ 's arms around him and can pretend that _'adad_ is just outside and coming home soon…

Or that Thorin is currently sewing the straw-stars on a thin string, promising to pin them above Fíli's bed so that they'll be the first things he sees tomorrow when he wakes.

Fíli is too tired to ask. His eyes are falling shut and he lets himself drift off to sleep in _'amad_ 's arms, before he can mouth the words. Maybe he's afraid for Thorin's answer to be no, or maybe Fíli is already sure today means _yes_.

But he really, really hopes that now, Thorin is going to stay.


	2. The Oliphaunt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello laddies, I'm a bit late but here it comes, the second chapter of Fili and Thorin's triptych. I want to thank you all, very deeply, for reading and for all the lovely reviews and messages I got. It has exceeded all my expectations, and made me very, very happy. This year would definitely not have been as bright without your support, your wonderful reviews and deep-felt thoughts - and I want to thank you again, because in this world we are always quick to grumble about what is not right, and forget to point out what is beautiful, and heart-warming, and wonderful. Just like you all are :).
> 
> I really hope you all have the amazing Christmas time you deserve. I wish you all warm candlelight and mince-pies (the new delights I have just discovered thanks to a wonderful friend of mine). Take care and... till Christmas day for the last chapter! With love, Meysun.

_**T.A. 2863, winter.** _

  


Thorin stays.

He settles in their small and only guest-room, and when Fíli asks him why he only brings two bags and a wooden chest, when the house he's normally living in has _three_ rooms, Thorin just runs his hands through Fíli's locks, and there is a tired look in his eyes.

He watches his uncle place some clothes in the tiny wardrobe _'adad_ has made with his own hands, and then he comes closer, tugging lightly at Thorin's sleeve.

“What's in there?”, he asks, pointing to the wooden chest, and Thorin's lips curl up, ever so slightly, as he bends to scoop Fíli up.

“What do you think?”, his uncle replies, and Fíli stares at the chest for a while, leaning his cheek against the reassuring bulk of Thorin's shoulder.

“A treasure”, he answers, eyes leaping to his uncle's face that doesn't betray a thought. “Chests are made for treasures and golden coins. That's why they have a lock. Is there one on yours?

\- Have a look”, Thorin says, and Fíli slides down, crouching to take a closer look at the chest.

“Yes. But… there is no keyhole.

\- No.”

His uncle bends a knee and his arm automatically reaches out for Fíli, circling his waist as he takes the lock in his left hand.

“There is no keyhole, because there is no key. To open the chest, I have to turn a wheel here, here and _here_. There are various runes engraved there, and when I align the wheels to form the right combination, the bigger wheel of the lock turns, and it snatches open.

\- Can you show me?”

Thorin lets the lock fall against the chest.

“If I do, _bunnel_ , you will see what is in there. You cannot expect a Dwarf to give up his secrets just like that…

\- But you're my uncle!”, Fíli retorts, and Thorin smiles at this, a real smile that makes his eyes grow all soft, and his face as well.

“Yes, _bunnel_. But I'm sure you can guess without me showing you – for now, however… There are no golden coins inside.

\- Will you open it if I guess right?”, Fíli asks, and his uncle smiles again, and nods.

That's the first of the bargains Fíli strikes with his uncle this year.

The second one concerns their nights, and Fíli's right to enter his uncle's chamber whenever he wakes up sweat-drenched, heart hammering in his chest, without being able to hold back sobs – because _'amad_ 's room is a bit further away, and because there is a little baby making her belly grow, slowly, meaning she's very, very tired and needs her sleep.

Of course ' _amad_ never says that to Fíli, and neither does Thorin. Fíli knows about the baby, but he does not need anyone to tell him his ' _amad_ needs rest. He can see it in the way her face is all thin and pale, and in the way Thorin tries to spare her whatever household work he can – he's chopping the wood, he's washing up, and when ' _amad_ tries to stop him he circles her shoulders and draws her against him, cradling her against his chest just as carefully as if she might break.

' _Amad_ breaks indeed, one evening - Fíli is already lying in his bed, and suddenly he hears her shout, and cry, and sob, and Thorin's voice is barely heard, just a few deep words that drop down to a whisper as ' _amad_ cries even harder.

Fíli is terrified of what he is going to find, as he pads barefoot towards ' _amad_ and ' _adad_ 's room – _'amad_ 's room now – but he's still determined, it's his ' _amad_ and he loves her, and it's his uncle and he does not want Thorin to leave.

 _'Amad_ is sitting on the bed with her legs beneath her, and she's crying silently now, her fists balled as sob after sob leave her chest. And Thorin is leaning against the wall, as far as possible from her, and his face is so pale Fíli barely recognises him, his eyes shining with hurt but never leaving ' _amad_ 's hunched frame.

Fíli climbs on the bed and hugs ' _amad_ , and his lip is trembling and his eyes are watering, but he's determined not to cry – he cannot let his ' _amad_ see he's sad, all that matters now is to soothe her. He circles her chest the best he can and presses small, silent kisses against her neck, and ' _amad_ lets out a broken sound and takes a deep breath and hugs him back, tears still falling down her cheeks.

“I'm sorry… sweetheart… It is nothing… I'm sorry we woke you up… Do not worry, sweetheart, it is just… It is nothing...”

Fíli squeezes tighter and then he lifts his hand, and gently wipes ' _amad_ 's cheeks, on and on, stroking her face until he can feel her breaths calm down. He knows it is not nothing. He knows ' _amad_ just tries to reassure him, but he is big now, he's not a baby, and so Fíli tries to tell ' _amad_ silently that she's not alone, that he loves her and will always protect her, even if it means he has to see Thorin go because he made her cry.

' _Amad_ shifts on the bed and her hand finds Fíli's hair, and then she says the strangest thing ever, in a hoarse, broken voice Fíli struggles to recognise.

“Thorin, I am sorry. I am so, so, sorry, _marlel_. I had no right to…

\- It is all right”, Thorin whispers – and as Fíli lifts his head to look at him he can see his uncle's face is still very, very pale, and that it is not right at all, because Thorin is looking at them but does not seem to see them, and is still leaning against the wall.

\- I had no right to say such things to you”, ' _amad_ says, making a small move towards him Thorin does not seem to notice.

“It is all right”, Thorin breathes out. “It is true. Dís. I have no clue. No clue at all. There are no words to say how sorry I am, for you and for...”

But then Thorin's voice breaks, and he closes his eyes and presses his knuckles against his lips, shaking his head, and heads for the door, saying something about making tea, and Fíli stares after him, still hugging ' _amad_ , because Thorin has just been unable to say his name aloud or look him in the face – and this means he is hurting very, very deeply.

“Fíli, sweetheart…”, ' _amad_ says, and her voice is very soft, even though her eyes are shining again. “Will you please… do something truly wonderful for me? Will you please go after your uncle, and show him where the tea-things are? Tell him the blue tea-pot leaks, and that he'd better use the black one – I think he...”

She wipes her eyes with the inner part of her wrist, and Fíli thinks he loves her so much that his heart is about to burst, and that it does not matter he does not understand why uncle and ' _amad_ are so obsessed about tea _right now_ , he'll go straight away.

He enters the kitchen, and finds the kettle boiling, and Thorin hunched over the table, clutching the edge so hard his knuckles are white. He does not make a sound, does not even stir, he's just standing there with his forearms trembling and his eyes shut, and Fíli makes sure to be as noisy as possible when he comes closer, so that it does not startle him.

“' _Amad_ says the blue kettle leaks. I can show you where the good one is. If… you want.”

Fíli's voice drops with the last words, because Thorin is releasing the table from his iron grip and is letting himself sink on a chair, as if his legs were failing him, and Fíli can see he's trying very, very hard to focus on his words and to find enough strength to answer.

He comes closer when it is clear no sound is going to escape Thorin, and then he takes his forearm with both hands and cradles it against his chest, stroking it gently. His skin is icy, so Fíli makes sure he rubs hard enough to warm him up, and slowly, very slowly, he can feel some of the tension leave his uncle's body.

He looks up, and Thorin's head is leaning against the back of the chair, and his eyes are still closed, but his face isn't so terribly pale anymore. The kettle gives a low whistle, and Fíli strokes Thorin's forearm, tentatively.

“Uncle… Are you asleep? Because if you are, I'll have to fetch ' _amad_. I'm not allowed to touch the kettle because it burns – but it's alright, I can go if you…

\- I am not asleep.”

Thorin's voice still sounds hollow, but his eyes are open now and he's looking at Fíli, giving him a small, sad, tired smile. The kettle is still whistling, and Thorin shakes himself and gets up, Fíli letting go of his arm as he whispers:

“You should be. I am sorry we woke you up.

\- You're not leaving, are you?”

The words have blurted out Fíli's mouth and he bites his lip, while Thorin stills, kettle in hand. But then he turns, and his earnest gaze finds Fíli's and Fíli's throat tightens, because once more there are a thousand words caught in his uncle's eyes.

“No, _bunnel_. I'm not leaving, I promise.”

Fíli nods, and sniffs, just this once. And then he helps uncle making tea – and carrying the empty cups, while Thorin takes the kettle and the honey. ' _Amad_ has heard them coming, and she opens the door for them – she has washed her face and lightened the lamp close to her bed instead of the big one hanging from the ceiling, and it all looks softer.

Thorin sets the tray down on a small table and pours tea for ' _amad_ , and for him, while Fíli spoons the honey into the cups, and then he licks the spoon clear and watches uncle bring ' _amad_ her cup. And ' _amad_ circles his wrist, and pulls until she has him seated close, and then she sets down her cup on the ground, carefully, and wraps her arms around Thorin's waist, leaning her cheek against his chest.

It takes a while, but in the end Thorin bends, until his forehead rests against _'amad'_ s head.

“I am sorry”, ' _amad_ whispers, and Thorin breathes out: “It is all right.”

And this time, it sounds closer to the truth. After that, ' _amad_ and his uncle stop fighting – and as the weeks go by _'amad_ 's belly is slowly getting rounder, while Thorin begins to settle there, even though he's out for work most of the time.

That is when Fíli's nightmares begin.

He always dreams of the water, and of ' _adad_. Of the cold and the fear and the way water found its way into his mouth, down his stomach – of _'adad'_ s arm around Fíli's waist and the fear in his eyes as he hoisted him up the big, big rock and was swallowed seconds after, leaving Fíli choking, gagging and shivering, unable to scream, just coughing and crying.

He's crying when he wakes up, almost always – and the first time he actually runs into Thorin, because his uncle has heard him and is rushing towards his room. He hits Thorin's legs, and he's choking, coughing up sobs, but his uncle scoops him up and shushes him, cradling his head against his neck and rubbing his back. He takes him to his own room, and closes the door, and for a long, long time they just sit on Thorin's bed and Fíli coughs, and sobs, and tries to find his breath, making small, pitiful, hiccuping sounds instead.

“Shhhhh… My little warrior… _Bunnel_ … Shhhhh… You are safe, now… You are safe.”

Thorin never says it's all right. He never says it's just a dream, because it is not. He just holds Fíli close and rocks him, until Fíli calms down enough to begin to breathe again, until Thorin's voice is stronger than the water once more. After that his uncle runs his hand through Fíli's damp hair, on and on, until Fíli begins to shiver, until he realises it is cold sweat, and not water, that is drenching his nightclothes.

The first nights, Fíli ends up sleeping in one of Thorin's shirts, huddled against his uncle. But after that, Thorin simply keeps one of Fíli's clean tunics under his pillow – and it's one of the many things Fíli loves so much in him. That he does not try to force Fíli to battle the nightmares, but simply adjusts to them the best he can.

That night, once more, Fíli has staggered into Thorin's room – by now he's getting better with the sobs and the breathing, they only start to get out of control once he's in his uncle's arms, and able to let go, and even then, it does not take so long for Fíli to calm down anymore, even though he's still sweaty and shivering.

Thorin brushes back a soaked lock and kisses Fíli's forehead, and then he helps him out of his damp clothes and into the dry ones that have been waiting under his pillow. He has lit a small lamp, as well, as always, and as they both lie down again, Fíli makes sure to have his whole body pressed against Thorin's. He's so small he can sleep on top of him, covering his chest and stomach, his legs straddling his waist and his arms around his neck – this way he can feel Thorin breathe, and the warmth of his skin, and knows he's out of the water for good.

“Uncle…?”, he asks, sleepily, and Thorin's hand moves up to rest against his back. “Why is it I never feel it when you get up, and carry me back to my bed…?

\- Because you are already clinging to me...”, his uncle whispers. “I just have to sit up, very carefully, and then…”

Thorin makes a small wheezing sound and Fíli laughs, quietly, because it really sounds like a stone being thrown down, down, down the Mountain – he'd never have thought Thorin could make such noises, and he asks him to do it again, and again, and again, until they are both shaking with laughter. Well, Fíli is, and he's shaking Thorin along, but his uncle is definitely smiling.

“Enough now. Time to sleep”, he says soon after, blowing the candle out, and Fíli obeys, resting his face against Thorin's chest once more.

“A watch”, he mumbles, closing his eyes, but Thorin only shakes his head.

“No watch in my wooden chest.

\- Diamonds.

\- No, _bunnel_.

\- An oliphaunt.”

This time Thorin huffs, rubbing Fíli's neck.

“Where in Mahal's name did you get that idea? How would it even begin to fit in there?

\- I don't know.”

Truth is, Fíli does not know what an oliphaunt is. Regar said the word and he thought it pretty, but he has no clue what it might be. However, when he asks his uncle, Thorin tells him it's a story for another night – he sounds tired, and Fíli knows he is. Sometimes when he gets back home for dinner his face is almost grey, and one evening when they have Balin and Dwalin for dinner, Thorin falls asleep against Dwalin's shoulder on the couch in the living room, straight after the meal. It does not prevent Dwalin from showing Fíli some magic tricks, but Fíli notices how careful he is not to move his shoulder, and they both keep their voices low.

Thorin does not snore – not like ' _adad_ or Dwalin. Everybody thinks he is, but Fíli knows better – he's the one sleeping next to him after all. He's just breathing very, very softly, and because his mouth is slightly open one of his braids shifts, just a tiny bit, every once and a while. It makes Fíli smile, but he would never think to make fun of Thorin. He just makes sure to take his half-empty cup from his hand, very very slowly, and then he climbs up _'amad_ 's lap and points to the couch, and ' _amad_ and Dwalin exchange a look, and Fíli wonders at the smile they share, because it seems somewhat sad.

Balin explains to Fíli that uncle wants to build a real dam, but that the snow is falling thickly, and that they will have to wait for spring – in the meantime, they are building reinforcements and digging small canals so that the water won't rise too much. He also promises Fíli that uncle watches out, and does not go where it is dangerous. Besides, Balin says, Thorin is not always outside, there are also meetings to hold, workers to meet and clauses to write down – because the Dwarves do not always agree on the best way of settling things.

Fíli looks at Thorin, whose head has sunken even more against Dwalin's shoulder. He is still sitting, hands curled up in his lap, and Fíli can see the soft gleam of his rings. One of them has an old seal on it, one that says Thorin is King, and Fíli whispers to Balin that this is a lot of work for one Dwarf, and that he would have thought Kings able to just give orders and watch them getting done.

Dwalin has a quiet snort at that, and then he wraps his arm around Thorin's waist, carefully, because he's beginning to slide.

“Not our lot”, he mumbles, and Thorin has a small twitch and opens his eyes for a second, hand flinging to Dwalin's resting against his hip – but Dwalin just says a few quiet words and makes a small move with his thumb, and Thorin sighs and falls back to sleep.

“Why do you call uncle _sparrow_?”, Fíli asks, eyes narrowed.

Dwalin gives him a bright smile, enough to make his tattoos shift – then he narrows his eyes just like Fíli until the scar on his brow is all crooked.

“None of your business, you _brat_ ”, he growls, but Fíli giggles – he knows Dwalin is just teasing him, and he likes him a lot.

That evening Thorin sleeps all the time Dwalin and Balin are here, while ' _amad_ and Fíli get all the stories and jokes. He does not even feel it when ' _amad_ covers him with a blanket. It makes Fíli laugh and want to try other things he might fail to notice – but _'amad_ 's eyes are deadly serious when she tells him she'll cut his braids if he does, and in the end Fíli just settles quietly in the remaining space on the couch, nestling against Thorin.

He falls asleep as well, and does not remember Dwalin and Balin going. But he can feel ' _amad_ bend upon Thorin, and stroke his shoulder to wake him. Fíli rubs his eyes and watches his uncle being jerked out of sleep, waiting for him to be as grumpy as he feels. But Thorin simply looks lost, and then terribly ashamed as he realises what has happened – he keeps saying ' _amad_ should have roused him, that they should have shaken him awake, and in the end ' _amad_ has to cradle his head between her hands and to press a thumb against his lips to silence him.

“They are family. This is home”, she says, softly, eyes never leaving Thorin's.

His uncle's shoulders drop, slowly, and then he nods, allowing ' _amad_ to draw him against her. She's kneeling and uncle is still sitting, so that his head rests against her chest, and _'amad_ 's fingers run through his hair, on and on, just like she does with Fíli.

“You are home”, she tells him. “And I want you to feel you are – not our guest, not someone who has to earn the right to stay. You are my _nadad_ , and this is your home. If you are tired, you rest. If you are hungry, you eat. If you are cold, you find shelter. This is how family works.”

Fíli cannot see Thorin's face, because it is hidden in _'amad_ 's tunic, but his uncle nods, in the end, arms wrapped fiercely around her. And Fíli crawls closer, until he leans against Thorin's back – and this time his uncle is caught between ' _amad_ and him, and Fíli breathes in Thorin's scent that always smells of iron and leather and pipe-smoke, and of honey-soap and safety.

“Are we a family now?”, he asks, voice rough from sleep, and ' _amad_ smiles.

“We have always been”, she answers quietly.

That night, Fíli lies for a while in his bed, eyes wide open. He can see the shape of the straw-stars hanging above his bed, and he's cradling the stuffed woollen Raven that Bifur had made for him, rubbing it against his cheek. But he does not feel like sleeping.

He does not want Thorin to think the nightmares are the only reason Fíli has to join to him, and spend time with him. 

So Fíli gets up, tucks his Raven under his arm and pulls his small, soft blanket with him, and then he pads towards his uncle's room, happy to see there's still light shining from under the door.

Thorin has already removed boots and socks, and is taking off his leather jerkin. His moves still when he sees Fíli and he opens his mouth, but Fíli says quickly:

“No nightmare, uncle.”

Thorin never asks many questions. He stays silent, and accepts whatever Fíli gives – even now, he just undresses, quietly, turning from him when he pulls off his under-shirt. There are a few scars on his back, and fierce-looking red lines biting Thorin's right ribs – Fíli longs to ask his uncle to turn so that he can see and touch them, but somehow he senses that it's forbidden. Thorin is very open, very gentle with him, but he always makes sure to hide his chest from Fíli, from everyone actually.

“What is that frown for, _bunnel_?”, Thorin asks – and he's wearing the light trousers and the faded tunic he usually sleeps in.

Of course, Fíli cannot really answer. Instead, he offers his blanket to Thorin, already sitting on his bed, and his uncle joins him, taking the blanket in his hand, playing with the edge, meaning he does not know what to say, and is waiting for Fíli to help him out.

“It's for you”, Fíli says. “So that you are comfortable.

\- I am...”, Thorin answers, his face softening. “What about your bed, little warrior?

\-  I'm not really sleeping there”, Fíli says, haltingly, and then he looks up at Thorin, anxiously.

“Oh”, his uncle says – and then he extends his arm and Fíli promptly nestles against his chest, heart beating fast as Thorin hugs him.

“You can sleep here any time, and as long as you want to”, he says quietly, very firmly.

“What if I wake you up?”, Fíli asks, tiny-voiced, and Thorin stays silent for some seconds, before he speaks again.

“I'm used to waking up, _bunnel_. I never mind, when it it is… you.”

Fíli is still hugging his uncle, so that he notices Thorin's heart beating faster with his last words.

“And Muninn?”, he asks, pulling his Raven out from under his arm – and Thorin smiles.

“Muninn as well.”

They both crawl under the blankets, then, and Thorin makes sure to spread Fíli's across them both. Fíli's already lying on top of him, and he feels the warmth beginning to flow between their bodies, slowly lulling him to sleep.

“You know… your ' _amad_ used to crawl under my blankets just like that”, Thorin whispers, taking Fíli by surprise. “Long ago. When she was small. She was afraid of… well never mind.

\- Afraid of what?”, Fíli asks, fingers curling around Thorin's tunic.

“Afraid of Goblins”, his uncle whispers. “Because F- because your…”

And then Thorin's voice catches, and his body suddenly gets all tense and stony against Fíli's. Only Thorin is not made of stone, and Fíli knows it. And so he mumbles:

“Because uncle Frerin used to make up the worst stories ever about them. He told her they would crawl up her legs if she was taking to long to pee, and ' _amad_ was so scared to go out she wet her clothes once, and when you found out why… She said you were yelling so loud uncle Frerin's ears were ringing for _days_ – and that she never was afraid of real Goblins after that. Because they were tall enough to be fought with axe and sword.

\- Yes...”, Thorin chokes out, and he's relaxing very, very slowly. “Yes, that's the kind of things he… would do… ' _Amad_ told you?

\- Mhm. She said she screamed herself hoarse, fighting against him. But she always laughs when she remembers it. I think she enjoyed it.”

Thorin makes a small noise that sounds like he agrees. His body feels much less stiff now, and Fíli leans his cheek against his chest. And then he decides to tell him what he has learned, tonight.

“Uncle… I know what an oliphaunt is, now. That's why I also know it cannot be in your chest. But I think I guessed what's in there anyway.

\- Did you now?”, Thorin whispers, and Fíli knows he's smiling.

“An oliphaunt is a big, big animal that lives far, far away in Southern lands, where it is very warm and where the Mountains are made of sand. It is all grey and has a very long nose that is stronger as an arm, and it also has four, very sharp and very long tusks. It is very heavy, and very dangerous – stronger than ponies, and faster. But it is also very, very smart, and friends with the Men down there, the Ha-… the Hair-…

\- The Haradrim”, his uncle says, softly, almost dreamily.

“Yes. And… they hate other Men because they hunt the oliphaunts, for their tusks. Balin told me that Borin-the-fearless brought one back, and made a comb out of it. I hope he did not kill it.

\- No. He bought it. In one of the markets on the borders of the desert, in Harad. That's what he wrote in his travel-diaries. He liked oliphaunts, and admired them for the wonderful memory they have. Just like Dwarves do. He would not have hunted them – he hated to hurt animals without a good reason, because he loved them. Why do you think there are as many boars in the Iron Hills?

\- I don't know, uncle. I've never been there.”

At this, Thorin gives a soft huff, and ruffles his hair.

“Of course, _bunnel_. You'll just have to believe me.”

They breathe quietly for a while, and then Fíli shifts, slightly, until his face rests straight above Thorin's heart. He listens to the soft, regular thud for a long, long time, and then he says:

“In your chest… There are things you could not leave behind in your house. I think… that most of these things are not yours. That you are their keeper. And that, one day… perhaps, you will show me.”

Thorin's heart is thudding so fast now that Fíli _knows_. It is strange, how good he is becoming at guessing what his uncle thinks, and the way he feels. For example, now, Thorin is swallowing very hard, and Fíli knows that he is fighting back tears.

“Fíli… have you – have you been talking to… Balin?”

Thorin's words are laced with pain – it's very hard for him to speak and Fíli strokes his shoulder, even though he should feel offended.

“No. Not about your wooden chest. It's just… there are things ' _adad_ made for ' _amad_ that she has put away. Because it reminds her so much of him she cannot bear to look at them, for now. She had to explain it to me because at first I got… angry. There are lots of things I still don't understand.”

Fíli's voice has dropped – he's a bit ashamed of that. But his uncle makes a choked sound, between sob and laughter, and then he hugs him, very very tightly.

“I think I'll never cease to be amazed about _how much_ you understand”, he whispers, his voice rough – but Fíli's chest swells with unspoken pride.

They stay silent once more, and Fíli closes his eyes. Thorin is stroking his back, and he really feels like sleeping now, but he has one more question to ask.

“Uncle… do oliphaunts really remember everything? Like… who hurt them, and who was good to them – so that they avenge their friends and help them when they need to?

\- I once knew someone who said it was so”, his uncle says, very quietly.

“Then… they are very much like us, are they not? Very much like you...”

Thorin does not answer. He just hums, and Fíli can feel the deep sound vibrate through his uncle's chest, against his cheek. He smiles, because that's a very good sound for a strong, fierce oliphaunt, and then his hand curls around Thorin's shoulder, and somehow Fíli knows there won't be any nightmares tonight.

He falls asleep between two of Thorin's deep breaths.


	3. The Warrior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dear, dear readers... It is almost seven here in France, and I still have to wrap up some presents. And to build up our little Nativity - a cave, because my 'adad claims that's where it all happened - he's from Jordan, I guess he must be right. I feel like little Fili, because it is my favorite feast, and that I cannot wait to see my brother's face when he'll unwrap what I found for him. My Mum and me have decorated the tree - it is red and golden, as always.
> 
> I dearly, dearly hope you will all get an amazing Christmas. Not because of the presents, or because there are amazing and elaborate meals, or the best decoration, or wonderful dresses. These are but outer shells - and not all of us are as lucky. What I wish you is that, no matter where you are and what you do - and especially if you work, because it is even harder on a day like this - that you are loved. Either by those around you, or by those far away who think about you - even if some are no more. It is my firm belief that they are still around, somewhere. Damn, I didn't mean to tear up and now I did, but it is a special night, so - I want you to know that you are very much loved, today and every day. And that I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your thoughts, for your messages, for your wishes that moved me so much. I am so glad you exist. And I don't care if it sounds cheesy. Tonight, it's alright to say to people that they are amazing. And you all are. Never forget that.
> 
> Much much love, Meysun.

_**T.A. 2863, winter.** _

 

This year, the snow is falling very, very thickly.

Fíli is not really sure to remember last winter – he remembers playing out in the snow with Regar and Húni... and ' _adad_. They had built a shelter with thick walls and hidden inside, and it had stood for days and days because the weather remained cold.

But this year – this year there seems to be even more snow. And wind, as well – howling and throwing flakes against the windows, making the orchard behind the house look like it's haunted by ghosts, when it whirls snow around… and the trees look like they have been armed with countless daggers hanging from their icy branches.

Fíli jumps and breaks one of the daggers off, and then he brings it up to his lips, painting them with the tip that tastes like cold, cold water and earth. Not like iron. Not really like snow either. It makes his tongue burn like fire and yet it is icy and very, very hard. Like a real sword.

“Fíli, sweetheart, stop it. Off your mouth, you don't want your tummy to start hurting…

\- But ' _amad_ …

\- No _but_ , sweetheart. It's ice. Not sugar, nor fudge. It's not very tasty…

\- You didn't even _try_ ”, Fíli grumbles, but he still obeys, keeping the ice dagger firmly clutched in his small gloved hand. “You don't _know_ it's not tasty. Maybe it tastes like fudge. Maybe I like it.

\- Oh, I tried several when I was small. And I had to run for the toilet all afternoon, and a good part of the night too.

\- Why?

\- Because I had to get rid of all that cold water in my tummy. It wasn't fudge, you see…”

 _'Amad_ 's hand finds his neck, tucking Fíli's scarf tightly back into his small fur-coat, and Fíli leans into the touch. He doesn't let go of the ice dagger, but his free hand feels for _'amad_ 's belly, assessing the small, steady bump he feels under the furs.

“That's no fudge either”, he says, seriously, and ' _amad_ laughs, a real laugh that warms Fíli's chest and makes him smile as well.

“No, sweetheart. That's no fudge. It's your small sibling growing.

\- Are they warm in there? Does it hurt to carry them along all day?”

 _'Amad_ smiles and draws Fíli close.

“Yes, they are warm and safe in there. And it does not hurt to carry them, not really. Except when they kick, of course…

\- What? They _kick_?”

Fíli's tone is outraged. He never _ever_ hit his ' _amad_. He shouted and raged and yes, that one day before the attic and the stars, he threw some earth at her and still feels shame for that. But he never kicked her, Fíli is sure of that.

“Yes… Because they are learning how to move. They do not do that to hurt me, sweetheart. They are just exploring the small world they live in, for now…

\- Really? They don't know anything about how it's outside?

\- No, not yet… But sometimes they react to sounds, and voices – and you know what? I think they really, really love Thorin's. They keep kicking whenever he speaks.

\- Because it's so deep”, Fíli says softly. “I don't think they can hear mine.

\- Of course they can”, ' _amad_ whispers. “Of course they know you are their wonderful, elder brother. They cannot wait to meet you, I am sure of that.

\- And I...”, Fíli sighs. “It's so long, ' _amad_. When are they coming out to play with me? I'm bored in the snow and cold. I want Thorin.”

His voice has taken a whiny tone but ' _amad_ does not scold him. Thorin has left three days ago, because one of the northern outposts has been damaged by snowfall. It has to be secured so as not to allow Men to break through and start claiming Dwarven mines as they own, and felling the trees without paying the proper price.

Thorin has explained it to him, has told him he really had to go, because Men had already begun cutting some trees, thus violating the contract they signed. Thorin had told him, one knee on the ground and his arms around him, Fíli's cheek leaning against his chest so that he could _feel_ Thorin's voice in his very skin, that they needed to understand they could not use Dwarven lands as their own. That he had to go, and set things right with them, and that he was taking some very able warriors with him such as Dwalin to do so.

“Will you scare them?”, Fíli had whispered, clinging to his uncle's strong body.

“I will show them we are not to be played with”, Thorin had said quietly, and Fíli had felt a shiver running down his spine, because Thorin was so brave and so _mighty_ , and because he never ever saw anyone look more like a warrior than him, with his chainmail and his sword and the battle axe strapped on his back.

“Can I come with you…?”, he had asked, tentatively, but his uncle had shaken his head, a fond smile softening his hard, tired features.

“No, _bunnel_. It is too far away, and too cold. You stay warm.”

Fíli didn't want to stay warm. He had begun to sniff and his mouth had twisted and he had cried – but Thorin had stayed firm, making him blow his nose, not caring for the snot. And then he had told him he could still sleep in his bed every night if he wanted, and that he would be back after three nights.

It has been three nights now, and Thorin isn't back. That's why ' _amad_ rubs his neck and does not scold him, and only answers:

“Spring. They will be there for the third month of spring.

\- And Thorin?

\- Tonight.”

 _'Amad_ 's tone is soft, but sure. Fíli lets go of the ice dagger, and takes her hand. And then he helps her gathering some firewood they will let out to dry in their living-room, close to the fireplace.

They gather a lot of firewood, and Thorin isn't there. They shed their warm fur-coats and scarves and gloves, and lay the firewood out to dry, but Thorin does not come. ' _Amad_ makes soup and Fíli helps her stir it, but they have to eat it without Thorin and save his share, because he's still not there. And in the end, Fíli has to accept it is going to be ' _amad_ helping him to wash once more – she knows about injured warriors and is very gentle with him, but Fíli still stares down unhappily at his small feet and knees, because he wanted it to be Thorin, and Thorin is not there.

In the end, the only thing keeping Fíli from spending the whole night trying to look out for Thorin in front of the cold, cold window where the storm is hurling against the glass is to huddle against ' _amad_ on the couch, next to the fireplace. And to try and soothe the baby who's kicking _'amad_ 's belly so furiously Fíli can see it twitch.

Fíli has fetched his blanket, and Muninn, and it feels a bit silly at first, talking to _'amad_ 's belly, but his sibling is upset and Fíli knows exactly why.

“Look. I know he said he would be there, but you really have to pull yourself together”, he tells his sibling sternly. “Am I kicking at the chairs and table? Is that worthy of a five-year old Dwarfling? Of course not. And just because you are little and hiding in there does not mean you can do whatever pleases you. You are small. You are not deciding. ' _Amad_ and Thorin are deciding now. You'd better take that in.”

It is difficult to say if his sibling stops kicking straight away, because ' _amad_ is laughing so hard she soon has to clutch her belly for fear of shaking the baby too much. There are tears running down her cheeks, and she holds Fíli very, very close, but she's not sad, this time, she's just laughing, and this is a sound Fíli has not expected to hear again so soon.

“Oh sweetheart...”, she whispers, wiping her cheeks. “Oh darling… I love you so, so much… I love you, my sweet, _sweet_ , wonderful boy… I love you…

\- I love you too...”, Fíli answers, snuggling against her side and tucking Muninn safely between _'amad_ 's breasts, so that he can hop up and down with each one of her breaths.

It feels warm against ' _amad_ on the couch, and safe, and peaceful. The wind is howling outside, and Fíli should be scared, only he isn't. He is holding one of _'amad_ 's silken braids, and his other hand is resting against the soft curve of her belly.

“Again?”, he mumbles, sleepily, when he can feel the small kick meet his palm. “You really have to stop it, you know. Get some sleep. You're small. You need a loooot of sleep. More than I do.”

Kick. Kick. Kick. Fíli yawns, and strokes _'amad_ 's belly.

“Stop it. I'm not talking to you anymore if you kick. I'm sleeping now.”

He smiles, though, when he feels another soft twitch. His sibling is so _stubborn…_

“I think they love to hear you talk”, _'amad_ says softly, and there is a smile in her voice that makes Fíli's chest feel all soft and warm, so that he wishes he could melt into ' _amad_ until they are one.

“I love talking to them too”, he whispers, and then he closes his eyes.

It is late and very dark when Fíli wakes to the sound of hushed voices. He's still huddled on the couch, wrapped tight in his blanket with Muninn tucked safely under his arm, and it takes him a while to leave sleep for good and to make sense of what he's hearing.

“Give them to me… Off with them, your skin is _icy_ …

\- It's _all right_ , D-Dís, I'm not m-made of sugar…

\- No. You're just soaked, and shivering, and probably _starving_ – goodness, Thorin, how could you be mad enough to travel in that snowstorm?! You could have lost your way, you could have…”

Thorin. It is Thorin. _Thorin is back_.

Fíli bolts upright, heart hammering in his chest, and for a while he does not even know where to begin: running, leaping up or shouting his uncle's name… In the end he just heads for the voices, not caring that it is dark and cold save for the fireplace where he can clearly discern _'amad_ 's and uncle's shapes.

“Uncle Thorin, _uncle Thorin_!!!”

He bumps into his uncle, and what does he care that Thorin is half-naked, bare-chested and getting his shoulders rubbed with a towel, while his hair is dripping with snow on the rug, he just hugs him fiercely, arms knotted around his midriff.

Thorin is shaking. Badly. He's cold as ice, and his skin is all wet – so are his trousers, and socks, and the worst are his hands. They are icy, so icy that Fíli squeaks when they meet his skin, and Thorin recoils slightly, but then Fíli squeezes even tighter and Thorin has a broad shiver.

“You are so, so cold...”, Fíli says. “Did you fall into the snow?”

Thorin has a small laugh that feels like another shiver – _'amad_ is trying to rub his hair dry and ends up wrapping the towel around his shoulders, telling him to sit down and to take off his trousers. Fíli lets go of him and fetches his blanket, and when he comes back Thorin has shed all his clothes save his underpants and is trying to rub himself dry.

That is when Fíli sees it. Stretched across his uncle's ribs, almost biting into his stomach – shifting slightly as Thorin shivers, but clearly visible in the firelight. A red, angry scar – deep lines clawing at his uncle's chest, looking very much like a bloodied Raven's foot.

Fíli stills, and swallows. It must have hurt so, so much. It makes his own chest ache.

Thorin looks up, and he's pale, and cold, and looking almost thin without his clothes and chainmail – and his eyes widen as he realises what Fíli is staring at. His arm jerks up and he presses the wet towel against his chest, hiding the scar from Fíli's view, and he looks so upset Fíli cannot bear it.

“Here, uncle”, he whispers. “It's warm and dry. It's for you. To warm you up.”

He does not give Thorin the chance to move, he just joins him and wraps the blanket the best he can around him – because Thorin has sat down and is allowing him to do so, and then Fíli climbs up Thorin's lap and pulls the wet towel from his hand, throwing it on the ground as he presses himself against his chest.

“Uncle...”, he says softly. “Uncle...”

He has thrown his arms around Thorin's neck and is kissing his cheek, his jaw, his shoulder. Thorin's skin is still icy, but he has wrapped his arms around Fíli's waist and is squeezing hard. There are broad shivers building themselves in his uncle's stomach – Fíli can feel his muscles clench, every time a new wave is shaking his body, running through Thorin's chest and spine.

“There. Pull these on. All of them.”

' _Amad_ plucks Fíli from uncle's chest, and Thorin obeys. He still hasn't been able to say a word to Fíli, he's too cold, too wet, too exhausted – he does not even have the energy to push ' _amad_ away when she decides it will be quicker to warm him up if she's the one pulling the clothes across his head, and just groans, tiredly.

Soon _'amad_ has him dressed into his under-shirt, shirt, and two woollen tunics she has knitted herself. Then she tells he has five minutes to remove his underpants, and slip into the dry pants and trousers she has laid out for him – the exact time she and Fíli need to warm up his share of soup, and Thorin has an exhausted smile and nods.

He's fully dressed when they return – has even put on woolen socks, and his shivers have not stopped, but are slowly starting to ebb. He lets Fíli drag him to the couch, and his hand is still very cold but clutching Fíli's tightly. He sits down cross-legged, and then he reaches out for the warm bowl. For a while, it seems he is trying to soak the heat in through his very palms, but then he starts eating and almost lets out a moan with the first spoonful.

“Dís. It's… it's…

\- Warm”, ' _amad_ cuts him, dryly. “Eat up. There's more. And bread as well.

\- I can fetch it!”, Fíli throws in, and within moments he has fetched a roll from the basket and is handing it to Thorin, proudly.

His uncle has a small smile. He's still eating, and it looks like he hasn't done so for _days_. Fíli nestles against his side and sneaks his hands between Thorin's two woolen tunics. He can feel the tight muscles of his back, and the slightly softer mass of his stomach.

“Fíli, leave your uncle be… Let him eat.

\- It's all right”, Thorin says, voice somewhat hoarse – but Fíli loves it, he has missed it so much, and when Thorin empties his bowl and _'amad_ gets up to fetch him another, Fíli knows his uncle has missed him too, because he pulls him closer with a sigh.

He's still shuddering slightly, every now and then, and ' _amad_ presses another warm bowl into his hands and strokes back one of Thorin's damp braids.

“It's all right”, Thorin growls, but his eyes are soft and ' _amad_ just smiles.

“Did you scare them?”, Fíli asks softly, once Thorin has emptied his bowl and put it down.

He climbs into the space offered by Thorin's crossed legs and settles against his chest. His uncle bends and picks up Fíli's blanket, and then he extends his hand. ' _Amad_ sits down next to them, and Thorin wraps the blanket around them all.

“Yes”, Thorin lets out, and he sounds very, very tired. “I think I scared them well enough, _bunnel_. And Dwalin even more.

\- What did you do? Did you yell at them?

\- No. I did not. We started repairing the outpost, and we waited for them. And when they came, expecting to fell more trees – they found us.

\- Did you fight?”, Fíli asks, and his uncle rubs his back.

“Yes”, he says, simply, and he still sounds weary, and somewhat sad – his shoulders are slumped, and his eyelids are heavy, the rings under his eyes darker than ever.

“Did they understand?

\- Yes.”

 _'Amad_ wraps her arm around uncle's shoulders and squeezes tightly, and Thorin closes his eyes for some seconds, leaning into her touch. He tells ' _amad_ the others are safe, that they have all reached their houses – that the storm was wild but that they all just wanted to make it home, and not spend another night on the road, in the snow. His voice is rough, there is something like anger in it – Fíli knows that, for whatever reason, he's hurting, but that it has nothing to do with them. His uncle is just very, very tired.

So Fíli curls against his chest and hugs him. He does not tell him about the way he has learned to talk to the small bump ' _amad_ 's belly. There will be time for that tomorrow.

But when Fíli wakes up the next day, it soon becomes clear that Thorin is unable to listen to him. He is groaning softly, like someone who's in pain, there's sweat on his brow and his neck, and his hands keep running across the blanket, unable to stay still. He's not waking, even when Fíli shakes his shoulder, and his skin is very, very hot.

It scares Fíli, and he runs to fetch ' _amad_.

Thorin is still lying there when ' _amad_ arrives, and her eyes cloud with what Fíli knows to be worry, but ' _amad_ isn't scared, ' _amad_ is a real warrior too, and she fetches cool water and some rags. Then she strips Thorin from the thick layers of clothes he still wears, and this seems to wake him a little, because he opens his eyes and moans, trying to grasp her hands.

“Shhhhh… Lie still, _marlel_. Lie still.”

Thorin's eyes are shining, and unseeing. They scare Fíli, just like his talking does, because Thorin is speaking in a slurred, broken voice that has nothing to do with his usual self.

“It's not… It's not holding…. It's… breaking… Dís… Dís… It's unsafe…

\- Shhhhh… Sweetheart. It's all right. It's all right.”

 _'Amad_ 's eyes are shining, and they spill, but she's still stroking uncle's face, wiping sweat from his forehead. And Fíli wonders why she's calling Thorin the same way she calls him – and climbs on the bed, curling up in the remotest corner, because he's still a bit scared.

 _'Amad_ takes Thorin's tunics off, and his shirt, and his under-shirt, and all the time she shushes him and talks to him and strokes his skin, because he's breathing heavily, and trying to sit up when it is clear he can't.

“It is not safe...”, he whispers, eyes locked with _'amad_ 's, and they look dark and full of pain.

“It is safe now”, ' _amad_ tells him, and then she dips a rag into the water and wipes his forehead gently. “You made it safe.”

Thorin shudders and closes his eyes, and ' _amad_ wipes his neck. He sighs, and it makes the Raven-foot-scar on his ribs shudder and heave with his chest. His skin is sweat-drenched, and suddenly Fíli cannot bear to see him like this. His uncle is a warrior. He is mighty. He is brave. He makes stars, and chases nightmares away. He's not afraid of the water – he build dams and canals and walls. He's a rock. He's Fíli's rock. He has _no right_ to break like this.

Fíli lets out a sob, and then he bolts from Thorin's bed and head for the door, and his tears blind him and he cannot see, so when he trips and falls and lands into strong arms, he shrieks and writhes and struggles. Until he realises it's Dwalin, because there is no other Dwarf Fíli knows with such a broad chest, and so many tattoos.

“Hey, hey, hey...”, Dwalin says, soothingly. “Why so upset, little brat? What's up, eh?”

Fíli just weeps. He feels so, so small. He is so, so scared. He buries his face in the crook of Dwalin's neck and cries. And Dwalin just holds him, until he calms down a little, until the only sound he makes is a small hiccup, every now and then.

“Why… is your beard… all wet?”, he ends up asking, still unable to lift his face, and Dwalin chuckles.

“Because there is the nightmare of a snowstorm raging outside. You just woke up, eh? Didn't even notice? Didn't even put on some socks… These tiny feet here are icy…

\- Ice daggers”, Fíli sniffs, but he lets Dwalin cup his foot in his broad, broad hand, because it is warm, and strong, and steady.

Dwalin does not ask what Fíli means. He just strokes his foot, and in the end Fíli tells him.

“Uncle won't wake up. He's sweating and shivering and talking strange. I tried to wake him and… he didn't open his eyes. And now _'amad_ 's with him and I'm scared.

\- Mahal's beard...”, Dwalin grumbles. “The thoughtless, reckless little _fool_. I could see that coming, sure as death. And I _told him_.

\- Is uncle dying?”, Fíli asks, tiny-voiced and afraid, but Dwalin just snorts.

“No, little brat. I bet he just has a nice, raging fever. Because he seems determined to drown himself in work and snow. Wouldn't be the first time. Though I swear in the Maker's name I'll make sure he remembers he has something to lose, now.”

Somehow, the fact that Dwalin is seething calms Fíli down almost completely. If Dwalin is angry, then uncle is not dying. If Dwalin growls, then Fíli can stop worrying.

“Why did you come?”, Fíli asks, lifting his face, and Dwalin smiles at him, brown eyes warm and amused below his tattoos.

“Because. I know your fool of an uncle almost as if I made him.”

And then, Dwalin sets Fíli down and takes off his soaked boots, before padding straight to his uncle's room. And Fíli follows.

Thorin's eyes are closed when they are entering his room, and there is a wet rag cooling his brow. _'Amad_ is wiping his chest, fingers entwined with his, and whispering gentle, soothing words Fíli cannot make out.

She looks up, and there is something warm and grateful in her gaze when she recognises Dwalin. And so much love when she sees Fíli, half hidden behind Dwalin's hip.

“Oh, sweetheart...”, she says – and Fíli is not sure she means him. It could be uncle. It could even be Dwalin. He doesn't really care, because it doesn't really matter.

Dwalin steps up to the bed, and he sits down, carefully. He takes Thorin's free hand in his, allowing ' _amad_ to let go of him, and to get up, slowly. He takes the wet rag from her hand, and goes on wiping uncle's chest. And then he rubs his thumb against the back of Thorin's hand, and when Thorin's eyes flutter open – Dwalin just smiles.

“Hey, sparrow...”, he says, very softly, and Thorin has a small shudder and whispers Dwalin's name.

“Did someone ever tell you that you are the most stubborn, foolish, _reckless_ little idiot?”

It's weird, how endearing these rough words sound. Probably because they do not match Dwalin's eyes, and the gentle moves of his thumb. Thorin doesn't answer, he just lets out a groan, and _'amad_ whispers to Fíli she is going to make some tea to help uncle's fever get down. And Fíli follows her – he wants to learn how to do that, how to stop being scared, and he also needs a hug from ' _amad_ , and kisses, and her hand in his hair, reassuring him.

They make tea for uncle, and then ' _amad_ takes Fíli to his room, and they both sit down on his small bed and cuddle, for a long, long time. They don't talk about Thorin, they just keep close, and ' _amad_ is scratching Fíli's back until he feels like purring, and ends up half asleep against her, because it has been a broken night.

Fíli does not enter Thorin's room again that day. Dwalin has come and asked for more water and rags, because uncle keeps heaving up his tea – but he's very calm and just rolls his eyes, telling Fíli it is always so, with him. That it's just the fever rising, and uncle fighting it off on his own.

Because uncle is a fierce, strong and stubborn _nightmare_ of a warrior.

 _'Amad_ makes more tea, and brings Dwalin more water. But she stays with Fíli. Dwalin says it is not good for her and the baby to stay in a sick-room, and that he is going to ask Balin to come by later. Sometimes uncle's voice is heard – mostly words, ragged and slurred. And Dwalin always answers, and Fíli can hear his quiet, deep laughter and knows he's keeping Thorin safe.

Fíli plays with Muninn, and with the marbles Thorin gave him. He talks to his sibling in _'amad_ 's belly as well – when it's time for his nap, and him and ' _amad_ are lying on Fíli's bed, hiding under his blanket. And the kicks Fíli feels under his small hand are reassuring and comforting – his sibling is well, and warm, and safe.

The day goes by, and the night. Fíli is sleeping with ' _amad_ , and she makes sure to shield him from any noises – Fíli's night is absolutely silent, and he sleeps like a rock.

And so does Thorin, when Fíli finally dares to enter his room, after a reassuring nod from Dwalin. He's still bare-chested, and his dark hair is curled with sweat, but he is breathing deeply and regularly. He has drunk water and tea steadily through the night, and his fever is less high now.

Fíli climbs up the bed and kneels close to his sleeping uncle. And then, very softly, reverently, he runs his fingertips against the mighty scar on Thorin's chest. On and on. Careful not to wake him.

Thorin wakes hours later, and he's still feverish, but he's feeling cold now and Dwalin helps him pulling on a thin under-shirt. He's also feeling sick, and doesn't want any soup, just water and some tea – but he keeps it down. His eyes are still cloudy, as if Thorin struggles to remember where he is exactly, and the first time he realises Fíli is sitting on his bed, there is a pained, disbelieving look on his face.

He reaches out for Fíli's hair, but Dwalin tuts, quietly, and cups Thorin's hand with his own.

“Don't be silly, sparrow. It's little Fíli. Your lad.

\- Fíli”, uncle repeats, weakly, and his move stills as he closes his eyes. “Fíli.”

There are small, silent tears running down Thorin's cheeks. They both see them. But no one says a word. Dwalin just pats Thorin's knee, and Fíli lies down next to him and begins stroking his chest, until his uncle's breathing eases, and becomes regular again as he falls asleep.

The day afterwards, Thorin is still not eating, but he's awake, really awake, even though his skin still feels hot to the touch. He smiles at Fíli, and lets him climb on his bed and on top of him, wincing just a little when he sits down on his stomach.

“Sorry, uncle… Are you still feeling sick? Am I too heavy?

\- No. It's all right.”

His uncle still looks very, very tired, and his face seems thinner, but his voice is almost back again. Thorin bends his legs, and his hands settle around Fíli's waist, pushing him back a little bit, until he sits above his hips with his back against Thorin's knees.

Fíli leans against them – they are solid, and steady, almost like stone. Like a small Mountain. Thorin's hands move, and cup Fíli's feet, just like Dwalin did. His hands are hot, and dry – they don't squeeze, this time, because Thorin doesn't have much strength. His eyes are bright, but they do not leave Fíli's face, and he has a small smile when Fíli lays out his tin Dwarven-warriors on the valley and hills formed by Thorin's chest.

“They are checking the outpost”, Fíli tells him gravely. “They go and see if the walls hold.”

Thorin has a small cough and one of the warriors tumble.

“Uncle...”, Fíli says softly, but he is not cross. He moves the little warrior and tucks him safely between Thorin's raven locks.

“That one is leading”, he explains, and his uncle smiles, tiredly.

He has closed his eyes. He is breathing very slowly, and his hands are loosening their grip around Fíli's feet. The valley and curves under Thorin's blanket are softening – and Fíli takes care to lead his men to the outpost very, very silently, following the line of Thorin's collarbone.

“Holding”, Fíli mumbles. And then he makes them travel to the other outpost on Thorin's left shoulder, and pause before one of the milestones formed by Thorin's hair-clasp.

“It is not very far now”, his leader soldier says, and Fíli wished his voice could be deeper. “I think we are going to be home tonight. Don't be afraid of the storm. It's just a… a nightmare… a very bad storm. Follow me.”

Thorin's fever breaks as the snowstorm settles. He is still weak, and sleepy, but he no longer feels sick, and he accepts some soup – for the first time in three days, even though he does not eat very much. And he lets Dwalin scrub his upper body clean, while ' _amad_ changes his sheets.

“Uncle, why is he calling you _sparrow_?”

Somehow Fíli knows he can try to ask again. Because his uncle is bare-chested before him, and isn't trying to hide anything from him, this time. In fact, he's almost dozing off, sitting in a chair where Dwalin has all but carried him, allowing him to wet his back and neck.

Dwalin huffs, and Thorin smiles. He does not reach out for Dwalin's hand, does not turn towards him. But it feels like the smile is just for him, and Fíli.

“Because I once was very small and tiny.

\- Still are”, Dwalin growls, and this time Thorin elbows him, hard, while Fíli laughs.

“I don't believe you”, he says, as Thorin lies down again and closes his eyes.

“Right you are, _bunnel_ ”, he whispers – it was an effort getting up, and his body still aches, but Thorin is getting better.

He's certainly not tiny, and very far from small. And Fíli loves him.

So he climbs on the bed, and lies down quietly next to him. He takes care not to crush his stomach, and embraces him very, very carefully, feeling him breathe, and the warmth of his skin.

“Uncle Thorin?”, he whispers, and his uncle hums, quietly.

“When you get better, I want you to talk to _'amad_ 's belly. They missed you in there. They kept kicking, all the time.

\- Did they?

\- Yes. I think they were worried for you.

\- I'm fine...”, Thorin mumbles, reaching out for Fíli, drawing him against his chest. “I'm all right. I'll be up tomorrow, I promise… You can tell them. I'm sorry. To have worried them. I didn't mean to.”

He isn't used to it, Fíli realises. It is all very new, and scary for him – Thorin still has to learn what it means to really belong somewhere. That he belongs with them, and is not just acting _'adad_ 's part. That no matter how terrible his scars – seen and unseen – he is the most wonderful uncle, and the Dwarf Fíli loves most, now that _'adad_ has gone.

“I was worried too”, he tells his uncle, quietly, and Thorin blinks.

“I'm sorry”, he repeats, and Fíli strokes his short, soft beard.

“I love it when you are here. With us. I want you to stay. Forever.”

His uncle is a warrior. He's strong, and mighty, and brave and hard as a rock. But right now he squeezes his eyes shut, very tightly, because he's crying and does not want Fíli to see.

“I will, _bunnel_ ”, he chokes out, voice rough and broken. “I will.

\- Sure as death”, Fíli says, gravely.

And he does not know why it makes Thorin laugh, and why ' _amad_ smacks the back of Dwalin's head. All he knows is that he is very, very happy to hear his uncle laugh, and that he will make sure to ask him to play with him tomorrow, to teach him some marble games and maybe to play with his tin Dwarven-soldiers. Because it is going to be much, much better if _he_ 's the one leading them.

Fíli hopes ' _adad_ does not mind. He's not forgetting him. He never will.

He's still going to wake up sweat-drenched every second night, and he will have to wait for his baby brother to be old enough to sit in a bathtub before he _ever_ agrees to step up in the water again. But Fíli does not know that.

All that he knows is that he cannot wait to have a full day with Thorin just for him.

It took them long enough, after all.

Fíli nestles against his uncle and closes his eyes.

 

**FINIS.**


End file.
